


The Piemaker and the Dead Boy

by hazethroughtheforest



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Aged up characters, M/M, More tags to be added, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Pushing Daisies AU, a lot of death bc it's pushing daisies, andrew is the piemaker, basically all the potential triggers for the books, bee adopted him when he was in high school, but nothing explicit, he brings neil back to life, i think, in case you havent watched the show, mentions of rape/non-con, mentions of torture, more healed andrew, that means they cant touch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-03-09 22:56:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13491537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazethroughtheforest/pseuds/hazethroughtheforest
Summary: Andrew Minyard lived a quiet life these days, baking pies and raising the dead. When Nathaniel Wesninski, son of the Butcher of Baltimore and Andrew’s childhood crush, shows up dead, Andrew can’t help but bring him back, disregarding every consequence.Nathaniel becomes Neil Josten, and stays with his Piemaker, helping him solve crimes while they try to bring down the family that controls the country.it's basically a Pushing Daisies au





	1. The Piemaker

**Author's Note:**

> warnings for mentions of rape (the actual word isnt said), its only implied, as well as the abuse  
> its a lot lighter than the books  
> also, some deaths of made up characters?  
> and mentions of torture and scars  
> idk if im leaving anything; if so, you can leave it at the comments or contact me at @tonotdiequietly on tumblr  
> xxx

Andrew Minyard did not care for many things, but he loved baking. It was Bee who introduced him to pie making, back in his high school years. It was not the most important thing she had done for him, but it was close.

The first one had been an apple pie, and Bee had made it with him. Well, actually, he had made it with Bee. She had asked for help in the kitchen, and Andrew, who tried to make as little trouble for his foster parents as he could, complied. Sure, this was different from his other homes. Bee had chosen him, even after everything –his record, his tutors, the _government _– had tried to make her see her mistake. She had chosen him.__

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There were a couple more apple pies after that one, always for the same reason. It wasn’t until a couple of months spent in Bee’s house that he approached the kitchen of his own accord. He had come back from school expecting to see her sitting on the couch with a book, as she had been every day for weeks. Instead, she’d been in bed with a fever.

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It had been so far out of Andrew’s skills that, for a few moments, he just stood there. Whenever he’d gotten sick in foster care, he’d had to sleep it off. In the best of cases, he’d gotten some aspirin from the responsible adults in question. Now, being older, he knew what kind of drugs to look for thanks to the internet, but that was about it. He didn’t know how to _comfort _. The most puzzling thing was, however, that he _wanted_ to know. That was the moment he’d realized that he cared about Bee.__

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She was good to him. Never asked of him any more than Andrew was willing to give. The first few weeks, Andrew had been on his toes for the obvious reasons, but also… She’d reminded him of Cass. He had cared about Cass, too.

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But now he was fairly sure that Bee was different. She had addressed Andrew’s past experiences, talked about Drake and all the men that had come before him. She had promised that she would never hurt Andrew, or at least never on purpose. She had stayed with him when he needed company and stayed away when he did not. The week before, she had told Andrew that she loved him. Andrew, despite his best efforts, believed her.

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So he’d asked Bee what she needed, flicking off her protests at him taking care of her, and helped her to the bathroom, brought her water and medicine, dinner… And the next morning, he’d made pie.

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And only a few years later, he’d become the Piemaker of Coeur d’Coeurs. He’d acquired a small local near Bee’s street, a place that customers liked to describe as ‘lively’ and ‘colorful’ and, Andrew’s favorite, ‘home-like’.

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He had fought tooth and nail to get it, and had named it ‘the Pie Hole’.

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Nicky and Aaron had entered the picture a few years before that, and while Aaron had left for the big city to become a doctor alongside Katelyn, Nicky had stayed and helped him manage the business. He lived with his husband Erik in the same block of apartments as Andrew, and was obsessed with bringing him plants and painting Andrew’s walls in bright colors. He was the one behind The Pie Hole’s over the top decor, too.

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Aaron called every week, and he ate at Bee’s place twice a week.

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Even with the dead bodies, Andrew’s life was good.

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**

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The day Andrew had found out about his resurrecting powers was the same day he had seen Nathaniel Wesninski for the last time.

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Michael and Sheila Burrows, a couple in their fifties who lived in Baltimore, had taken Andrew in when he’d been nine years old. Sheila liked to make Andrew do all the chores in the house, never mind that a small kid could not reach the stove or know how to cook very well. Whenever he’d tried to point this out, she’d had no problem showing him what happened to ‘bad boys’. Michael did not care what kind of boy Andrew was; there was no reasoning behind what he did to Andrew at nights.

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They were not the worst foster family Andrew had had.

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They might have been closer to it, were it not for Nathaniel, the boy next door. He had noticed Andrew’s bruises and the painful way he moved, the smallest breaths he let out when he sat. He had noticed Andrew.

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Andrew, for his part, had noticed Nathaniel, too. How he would bleed under his T-shirt and shrink away from all adult men with that blank expression of his. How he never seemed to want to go back home, either.

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They were each other’s support and salvation for the short year Andrew had spent in Baltimore. Whenever Andrew could get away from Sheila’s tasks, and Nathaniel could avoid whatever it was that happened in that house, they were together. They talked and played and laughed; did normal and not so normal nine-year-old things. 

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It wasn’t perfect; it couldn’t be. But it was good enough, and Andrew had told himself that he would be able to keep it, to keep Nathaniel.

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It still wasn’t much of a surprise when everything went to shit. It was a surprise, however, how it came to happen.

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One of Michael’s nights, just as he was approaching Andrew’s bed already shirtless, he’d just… dropped dead. Andrew had looked at the body with wide eyes, unwilling to move just in case it was a game. Michael liked games, sometimes. When a couple of minutes had passed and Michael still hadn’t moved, Andrew left his bed on weak knees.

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Michael’s eyes were open, but they didn’t seem to see Andrew. He wasn’t breathing. Slowly, Andrew extended a finger and touched Michael’s flaccid cheek. The body shone for a second before Michael got up.

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“Did I fall?” He muttered, scratching his head.

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Andrew walked away from him and didn’t say anything. Had he just…? Michael had been dead, he was sure. And now he was not.

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Michael was starting to walk towards him again, apparently remembering why he had come to Andrew’s room in the first place, when another thump sounded somewhere else in the house.

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“Sheila?” Michael shouted. She didn’t answer. He tried twice more and, when there was only silence, Michael left Andrew’s room in an annoyed manner. Andrew hesitated for a moment, and silently followed him.

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Sheila lay dead on the floor, just as Michael had just a few minutes before. Michael shook her and screamed at her, but she did not get up. He called an ambulance and, as they waited, turned to Andrew.

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“Did you do this? Did you make her trip?”

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Andrew could not find his words, his mind was screaming with the possibilities of what had happened. He wanted to talk to Nathaniel about it.

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“I asked you a question, boy!” He went to grab Andrew’s arm, but as soon as his skin touched Andrew’s, he fell for the second time in an hour. 

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Andrew touched him again just to see, and exhaled in relief when he didn’t get up.

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**

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They took him away after that.

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He barely managed to say goodbye to Nathaniel before they made him get into a car, far away from Baltimore and the blue-eyed boy.

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He went through five more foster houses before getting to Cass and, inevitably, Drake.

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Before that, though, Andrew tested his power. He had been reluctant to believe it, at first, but it had been no trouble at all to touch the dead fly on his windowsill or the dry leaves in his new backyard.

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He soon found that there were two simple rules: 1. With a touch, he could resurrect any dead thing without consequence, but only for a minute. If sixty seconds passed without him touching said thing again, something else would die nearby.

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2\. If he touched something he had resurrected, it would die again. Forever.

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As for the first rule, the things that died carried a similar weight to what Andrew revived. When he resurrected a fly, another small bug died in its place. A bird’s life was equal to a squirrel’s, if Andrew’s power was to be trusted.

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Sheila’s life had been equal to Michael’s.

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Years later, he learned how to use this gift in his pies and little else. He could always make fruits and vegetables become ripe again, if maybe at the expense of the plants on his backyard. Nicky, Aaron and, of course, Bee, knew about it, but it was no one else’s business.

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One day, however, as he was taking out the trash in the alley beside the Pie Hole, a dead body fell on him and, reanimated, started running towards the street.

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“Shit,” he said as he touched it again and laid it on the floor. “Shit.”

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“What the fuck?” Came from above him.

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Apparently, one private detective David Wymack had been chasing a known murderer over the rooftops of Coeur d’Coeurs when his criminal fell on the Piemaker. Andrew gave him a reluctant explanation over pie, asking him in as nice a way as he knew not to tell anyone.

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“Tell anyone? Kid, do you know how useful that touch of yours could be?” After some tries, Wymack convinced him of the perks that could come from being able to ask victims about who had killed them. He promised Andrew a third of any money they made with the cases, but that wasn’t what made him agree. It was, rather, David Wymack himself. How he took the cases no one else would, for how little money the clients could afford to give him. How he was a kind, fair man who believed in justice and second chances.

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In the long journey that had led Andrew to become the Piemaker of Coeur d’Coeurs, he had learned to appreciate people like Bee and Wymack.

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And so, regularly, the Piemaker traveled to the morgue and helped the people who had not been able to help themselves.

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It was different with the Wesninski and Moriyama cases, of course. Those were personal for both Wymack and Andrew, even if the private detective didn’t know that. For it was no coincidence that Andrew had settled in Coeur d’Coeurs, a small town close to Baltimore.

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It had been fifteen years, and Andrew had moved on with is life, but he had not forgotten the blue-eyed boy next door.

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He was working on a strawberry pie and listening to Nicky’s ranting about some customer or other when Wymack entered the Pie Hole.

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“I mean,” Nicky kept on. “Leaving five cents as a tip is actually worse than leaving no tip at all. No, Andrew, listen,” he said even as Andrew did not look up from his work, “it is. It is like a slap, you know? What did he even mean to–”

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“Nicky,” Wymack greeted as he sat on the bar. “Andrew.”

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Andrew hummed in response, and Nicky finished his rant with a sigh. “Do you want the usual?”

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“I actually came for his _other _work,” he replied, his face sober. “I just got a call from the morgue. We have another. They say it’s W. related.”__

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Andrew left a newly ripe strawberry on the table. He’d have to be careful to grab it with a cloth next time. He cleaned his hands on his apron and started to take it off.

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“Do you know anything else? Age?” It was what he always asked when it came to the Wesninskis.

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“Too young.” There was a tired note in Wymack’s tone, and Andrew left his apron on the table with care.

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_How young? _He wanted to ask. But he also wasn’t sure he wanted to know.__

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“Let’s go,” he said instead.

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The boy who lay on the table was Andrew’s age. He was covered with a sheet from the waist down, but his chest was exposed for everyone to see. It showed clear signs of torture, with slashes, deep and shallow, all over it. His face was bruised, and his throat had the clear imprints of hands around it.

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Even before he saw his eyes, Andrew knew it was Nathaniel. He had that same iron scar on his shoulder, and the one on his belly where his father had stabbed him that year. He remembered a lot of the scars, actually. Others, however, were new. There were two bullet shaped ones, as well as a lot more made by blades. There was ugly scarring on the right side of his chest; it looked as if he had scraped the skin off somehow.

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His arms were full of them, too, and as bruised as his neck.

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“Cause of death was strangulation, they told me.” Wymack’s voice seemed to come from far away.

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Andrew swallowed, not taking any steps closer.

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“You okay?” When Andrew didn’t move or reply, Wymack put a hand on his shoulder. Andrew stepped neatly out of it, but Wymack’s worried expression didn’t change. “Did you know him?”

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“Yes,” he said after a minute. His voice sounded lower than he’d intended. Before Wymack could ask anything else, he said, “Leave us.”

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Wymack frowned at him a bit more, but ultimately left, as Andrew knew he would. He made sure he heard the sound of the door closing before he walked to Nathaniel.

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He breathed in deep, pressed the timer on his clock, and touched Nathaniel’s cheek.

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Nathaniel incorporated with a jump, fixing his blue eyes on–

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“Andrew?” His voice sounded raspy, probably thanks to the damage to his vocal chords.

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“You only have a minute,” he said calmly, the same words he said every time, even if nothing felt the same.

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Nathaniel swallowed. “I’m dead.” He just stated the fact.

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“Yes. Fifty-four seconds.”

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Nathaniel swallowed again, closing his eyes for a second, two. He opened them and started to talk. “My father is Nathan Wesninski. I don’t know how much you know about him. Lola and Romero Malcolm work for him. They have hidden bodies in...” He gave Andrew all the information he possibly could in thirty-five seconds, enough to start to form a case against the Wesninskis. 

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“And the Moriyamas?”

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“I just know he works for them. Nothing else. Andrew… I never forgot,” he said, his voice tight.

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“Me neither.” There were only seventeen seconds left. “I always hoped I’d find you again.”

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“I’m sorry we didn’t get more time.” Nathaniel closed his eyes. His expression was openly, sadly, resigned. He had given the majority of his minute to bringing down the people who had tainted, ended his life. He was giving the rest to Andrew. “I hope you’re happy?” It sounded, strangely, like a question.

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_It’s not fair _, Andrew’s mind supplied. It had been a long time since he’d stopped listening to that part of himself, though. _I don’t even know him anymore_ , he countered.__

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_You could _, that part said again.__

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“What if you didn’t have to die?” He said before he could stop himself. Seven seconds.

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“I… prefer it, to be honest.”

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“There would be consequences,” he said more to himself than to Nathaniel.

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“I don’t–”

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“It’s not _fair _,” Andrew repeated, this time out loud.__

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A minute passed.

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	2. The Dead Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so i just realized that ao3 left out all my italics??? i fixed some of them but not others and i am MAD about it. anyway, if you've read the first chapter and thought "hmmm, maybe this should be in italics?" just know that it WAS. im so stupidly bothered abt this xD anyway, here's a shorter chapter!

 

Jack Jacobs had worked as a medical examiner for twenty-two years. His wife and daughter would often complain about how he would spend more time with the dead than with them, asking him to leave work early some days. Sometimes, he would listen; maybe on a crazy Friday or a lazy Monday. That day, however, was a Tuesday.

As, in the room next door, a dead boy took a painful breath that was not his, Jack Jacobs died from a sudden and unexpected heart failure. His wife and daughter would cry later at the unfairness of it; Jack had been healthier than most men younger than him, they would say.

That, however, did not concern the Piemaker. As Jack grasped his chest with a shocked expression that would forever stay there, Andrew watched Nathaniel groan.

“It hurts,” he let out.

That was new. Andrew had always noticed that the victims never seemed to feel any pain from their injuries for as long as the minute lasted. It made sense that now that he was alive once more he should not be numb to harm.

“Okay,” _Fuck_ , “just – wait. One moment.”

He left Nathaniel trying to sit up with a frown and went to the door. He opened it just wide enough to get his head out and looked at Wymack.

“We might have a situation.”

Wymack frowned, his mouth opening in question. “Wh–” He was interrupted by a loud sound behind Andrew. Wymack’s eyes opened up a fraction. “You did not.”

Andrew winced slightly. “It’s done now. I – He needs help. I can’t touch him.”

Wymack kept his gaze on Andrew for a few more seconds. Finally, he said, “What do you expect me to do?”

“He needs medical attention. And clothes. Help me get him to the car. Abby can take a look at him.” Wymack didn’t move. “Please.” It sounded flat coming from him, but it still hurt on the way out.

Wymack entered the room.

“How in Hell did you get up?” Nathaniel was resting his weight on the gurney he hadn’t meant to get up from, holding the sheet around him as well as he could. Most of his injuries could still be seen, and while he had gained some color, his face was still too pale.

“Who are you?” He flinched away from Wymack’s arm.

“He’s helping,” Andrew handed him a hospital gown he had found in a drawer. “I can’t touch you without you dropping dead again. We have to leave this place soon, and you need someone to look at your wounds.”

Nathaniel looked from Andrew to the cloth and back to Andrew. Now that the moment had passed, there was distrust in his eyes.

“Nathaniel–”

He stopped short when Nathaniel flinched again.

“Neil. It’s Neil now.”

“Neil,” he continued, “let us help you. There’s no going back now.”

 

**

 

Twenty minutes later, they were in Andrew’s apartment. They had considered going to Wymack’s since Abby was there, but they didn’t want to bump into Dan or Kevin, Wymack’s kids.

“Abby can be here in ten minutes, but she has another shift in an hour, so she won’t be able to stay long,” Wymack informed them after texting her.

“I don’t need anyone to come. I can stitch myself up,” Neil said for the third time.

“You were dead twenty minutes ago. You’re seeing a doctor,” Andrew said with finality. He had given him some sweatpants to wear, but he was still shirtless, his wounds exposed.

“It’s not even that bad,” Neil rolled his eyes.

Wymack was looking at him with alarm, but instead of commenting he addressed Andrew. “We need to talk.”

Andrew sighed, but followed him. He actually appreciated the chance to be away from Neil’s scrutinizing gaze for a while.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Wymack whispered furiously.

Andrew wanted to say that he hadn’t been thinking, clearly, but that would have been a lie. Andrew wasn’t completely against being dishonest, but it felt wrong to lie to Wymack after he’d helped Andrew with this mess. He looked at Neil, sitting uncomfortably on his couch.

“I just couldn’t do it,” he said simply. It had felt like killing Nathaniel, the boy who had made one of the worst times in Andrew’s life a bit better. It didn’t matter how someone else had been the one responsible, the truth was that Neil had been alive, and if Andrew touched him again he’d be dead. Andrew couldn’t kill the only friend he’d ever had. “Thank you.”

Wymack grunted. “Who is he to you, anyway?”

Andrew shook his head. “I do not owe you that story.” Wymack frowned, but before he could say anything, Andrew continued. “Could you get the first aid kit from the bathroom?” It was a clear dismissal, but Wymack just rolled his eyes and went.

“Why Neil?” He asked, sitting on the coffee table, in front of Neil.

“It’s just a name,” he shrugged, and immediately winced when it disturbed his wounds. “I just haven’t been… Nathaniel,” he swallowed, “for years. Neil is just the last one. Why did you let me live?”

“How did you end up in Coeur d’Coeurs?” Andrew shot back. “I would have thought your body would appear in Baltimore.”

Neil let out a dry chuckle. “You would, wouldn’t you? I’ve actually been here for a while. I work – worked at a coffee shop not that far from here. Have been for three months. My father’s people found me,” he finished. “I don’t know why my body was still here, though.”

Andrew hummed. “But why did you stay here for so long? Why so close to your father’s territory?”

Neil shrugged and looked away. “I was tired of running.”

And he looked like it, too. Andrew opened his mouth, but whatever he was going to say was interrupted by Abby’s arrival, Wymack trailing behind her.

 

**

 

She tried to convince them to go to the hospital even before he saw the full extent of Neil’s injuries. She wasn’t in on the secret of Andrew’s powers, and she didn’t notice anything about Neil’s recent dead state. She just patched him up while Neil looked blankly at a spot in the wall behind her and left in a rush for her shift at the hospital. Wymack tried to talk to Andrew again, but when he wasn’t successful ended up leaving, too.

Andrew was, again, alone with the Dead Boy. They stared off at each other, waiting to see who would break the silence first. Finally, Neil sighed.

“I… sorry. It’s not that I’m not thankful. I am. I’m sorry if I – I just don’t understand. You just… brought me back to life?”

The Piemaker explained shortly the rules of his powers, leaving pointedly out how someone else had had to die because of Andrew’s decision. That was a conversation he preferred to have at other time. Possibly never.

“Was that why you left? Back in Baltimore?”

His voice sounded hurt, and not only due to the bruises, and Andrew blinked. Of course, Neil had only known these past years that three people had left that house that day; two of them dead. Andrew had only been able to say a short, tense goodbye. Now, he debated telling Neil what had happened that night.

“It was related, yes,” he settled on.

“What are you not telling me?” He frowned.

The Piemaker shook his head. “Not now. I’ll tell you, just not now.”

Neil was quiet for a few minutes, but just said, “Okay. What am I supposed to do now? I can’t be Neil anymore.”

“You could stay here.” It sounded oddly vulnerable, so he added, “I’m sure you know a lot more that could help us bring down the Moriyamas and your father.”

“You want me to stay?” Neil had been playing with the fabric of the T-shirt Andrew had given him, but he looked up at that.

“If you want. I don’t have any exy equipment, though,” he said jokingly, referring to the sport Neil had been obsessed with back in Baltimore.

Neil’s face broke into a smile. “God, that was ages ago, wasn’t it?” He rubbed at his face with an almost inaudible sigh. Somehow, that smile had turned wistful.

“You’re tired,” Andrew said. “I’ll let you get some rest.” He went to get him some blankets, but stopped when Neil called his name.

“I...” He swallowed. “I think I’d like to stay. If that’s okay?” 

He sounded so unsure. Andrew brought him a blanket. Covering him with it with more care than he’d meant to, he said, “It’s okay. Maybe you could even keep being Neil.” He’d found that he liked the new name. “It suits you a lot more than Nathaniel.”

Neil gave him an intense look that Andrew didn’t quite know how to interpret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading!! comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!! (really, you were all so nice in the comments of the last one??? thank you so much??)


	3. The Pie and the Answers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is basically just andrew and neil Talking™

Andrew watched as Neil woke up from his nap with a start. He stayed very still as he looked around at the unfamiliar place.

“Wymack called. Apparently, people are looking for Neil Josten.”

“What?” He said alarmingly.

“Don’t get up,” he said when Neil’s intentions were clear. “I don’t think it’s related to the Moriyamas.”

Neil looked at him uncomprehendingly, but thankfully stayed on the couch.

“One Matt Boyd has asked Wymack to look into your death.” When Neil’s confused expression didn’t change, Andrew continued. “Obviously, he didn’t know it was related to the mafia or that he was already investigating it. He worked with you?” He tried when Neil still didn’t say anything.

“I mean… yeah, we talked sometimes? He made me go to a party with him once? But I didn’t think…”

Andrew sighed.

“You’re such a sob story. You were friends, idiot,” he spelled it out.

Neil blinked. “What did Wymack tell him?” He finally asked.

“That he’d look into it,” he shrugged. “He couldn’t very well tell him you were alive, could he?”

“No. Of course not.” He looked away.

“Are you hungry?”

“What?”

“You haven’t eaten anything yet.”

“I – yeah.”

**

 

And that was how Neil and Andrew ended up in The Pie Hole at 11 p.m. on a Tuesday, an hour after closing time. Neil had looked at the bright interior with a question in his face, but had ultimately just sat down on a stool at the counter. Andrew served him two slices of apple pie and waited.

“Are you just going to stare at me?” Neil asked once he had finished half of his plate.

“I’ve already eaten.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

The slightest of frowns appeared on the Pie Maker’s face. “I was kind of expecting you to freak out a bit,” he admitted. “You’re taking in all of this surprisingly well.”

Neil snorted.

“I’m not completely sure I’m not dreaming all of this, to be honest. My childhood friend brought me back to life? And he… bakes?” To Andrew, Neil’s smile was surprisingly wide. One second his eyes had been downcast, his expression almost blank. The next… that.

_This could be a problem._ The boy next door was all grown up, and Andrew couldn’t say that he didn’t like it. He still had those shockingly blue eyes, but his hair was no longer that auburn shade. He had noticed the roots while Neil slept, though. He had just dyed it, probably to escape his father’s goons.

The thought of how badly that had failed made Andrew come back to the moment. He raised his eyebrows at Neil, daring him to comment any further.

“Why wouldn’t I bake.”

His deadpan tone managed to make Neil laugh outright, and Andrew pretended that his stomach hadn’t jumped at the sound.

“Is this place yours, then?” He asked.

Andrew nodded. “My cousin works here with me.”

“Your cousin, huh?” Neil huffed out a breath and looked thoughtfully at the remains of the pie. “It looks like things have worked out for you.” He cocked his head and looked him in the eye, making it a question.

The Pie Maker’s face softened, a small smile forming there. It was a quiet kind of happiness the one Andrew had found for himself in his adult years. He was by no means the warm and bubbly presence Nicky and Katelyn were, or the soft and kind Bee. But he was solid, and he was content.

“They have.”

“I’m glad.”

Andrew nodded and looked away. “What about you? You served coffee?”

Neil sighed and had his last bite of pie. “Yeah. It paid well. It kind of got me into this mess, though.”

He went on to explain that, apparently, his father’s men had found him thanks to a newspaper article of a charity event the coffee shop had hosted. His coworkers had convinced him to appear in a picture with them.

“It was… stupid,” he winced.

“How did you survive this long?” Andrew frowned.

Neil’s mouth curled downward. “I had help. And I used to be more careful.”

He used to. Andrew studied him: the dark bags under the eyes, the chapped lips and far-away looks. All the new scars that weren’t visible under the clothes but that Andrew wouldn’t forget. He’d been tired of running, he had said. It looked an awful lot like Neil had resigned to being found, to dying.

_Suicidal?_ A small, almost detached part of his mind asked.

_It’s not that simple_ , he replied to himself.

They shared a look. At that precise moment, the Pie Maker of Coeur d’Coeurs saw something in Neil he never really wanted to see in someone else. A little bit of himself. The world had dealt Neil Wesninski a bad hand.

The silence between them as they looked into each other’s eyes was charged and deep, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Neil opened his mouth, but was interrupted by loud music coming from Andrew.

“Yes?” Andrew picked up his phone. The Dead Boy watched as Andrew’s face got paler and paler. “I see. Yes. I understand.” He hung up.

“Who was that?”

“Wymack.”

Neil raised his eyebrows, expecting more detail. When it didn’t come, he outright asked, “What did he say?”

“It’s late. We should go back.” He grabbed Neil’s plate and went into the kitchen. He heard Neil get up from the stool and follow him.

“Andrew.”

He left the plate on the sink but didn’t turn around. This wasn’t how he’d wanted to do this. He hadn’t wanted to do it at all. Andrew wasn’t really the kind to deny reality, but just this once he’d wanted to delay having to deal with it.

“There are – some things I haven’t told you.”

“I know. Are you going to tell me?”

“I don’t want to,” he said honestly.

There was a pause.

“Do I need to know?”

Andrew snorted without humor. “There aren’t really that many things anyone actually _needs_ to know.”

“Does it have anything to do with me?” He rephrased it.

“In a way. Yes.” He finally turned around to watch Neil’s face as they talked. He was cocking his head, studying him.

“Why don’t you want to tell me?”

Andrew swallowed and looked away. The truth he wouldn’t say out loud was that he was afraid. Neil would leave if he knew the cost of Andrew’s power, the cost of Andrew’s choice. A man was dead. A good man, according to Wymack. With a family.

Andrew had done that. He had decided that a life mattered more than another, he had played god. There was no…

“You saved my life,” Neil interrupted his thoughts. He was looking at him with a frown. “I’m okay with not knowing. Until you want to tell me,” he added.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“But you do. Am I making a mistake for trusting you?”

The silence lasted for a long time. Andrew wanted to say yes, just to avoid later disappointment. He also didn’t know how to say no. So there really was only one possible response to that.

“I can bring things back to life only for a minute. Once it passes, it stays alive but something else dies in its place. A man died because I didn’t let you stay dead.”

Neil didn’t say anything at first. “Who?”

“He worked at the morgue. That was what Wymack’s call was about; they found the body. Apparent heart attack. Wymack says he was a good man.” His voice was flat, detached.

“And you knew this was going to happen.”

“Yes.”

“Then _why_?” He sounded baffled. “Why would you–”

Andrew left the kitchen.

“ _Wait._ ” Neil went to grab his arm, and Andrew flinched away so fast and far that he hit the wall.

“ _Don’t._ ” He raised a hand to the bump that was already forming in his head. “Don’t,” he repeated more calmly. Neil had already walked a few steps away, as if to give him space. “If you touch me, you’re dead. Forever.” He probably should have led with that.

“I can’t touch you?” Neil looked at his hands the way someone would look at a great fall or a burning building.

“No.” Slowly, slowly, Andrew walked closer to Neil again.

“Why?” Neil asked again, this time less perplexed and more hurting. “Why did you save me?”

Andrew’s jaw worked, and he fought the instinct to flee again. “It didn’t feel right not to.”

“That’s not really an answer.”

“Well, it’s the one you get.”

That time, when he left the kitchen, Neil let him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!!

**Author's Note:**

> heeey! so, thank you so much for reading?? I hope everything was clear; i understand that if you havent watched the show it might be a bit confusing at first? it will get clearer as the chapters go, tho  
> also, english is not my first language and this is like my second fanfic, so  
> bear with me lol  
> comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!


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